In Too Deep
by SquirrelWho
Summary: Sherlock was spiraling. Mycroft could see the symptoms. So, he hired his brother a new live in, one with experience dealing with childish geniuses. After traveling with the Doctor Rose was sure she could handle anything,at least she was until she meant Sherlock Holmes. From severed heads to losing an entire day her life became a battle, but one she was determined to win.
1. Spiraling

Okay...so...I've got a house full of sick kids, because it's all or nothing or the universe is conspsiring or some other such thing, which means probably not much time for writing today and possibly tomorrow, we'll see how it goes. Either way I didn't want to leave my author alert peeps without anything to read. I wasn't going to post this for a while because I have so many up that I'm working on, but this is the last one I've been working on so...anyway...there are warnings...

Warnings: This is a bit darker. Mentions of drug use...past, not sure about present yet, but possibly. Severed body parts, might get a bit descriptive later, but not too much, least I hope not, guess that all depends on your angle. Sexual situations, but that won't be till way later and if you've read my other stuff you know I don't get too descriptive...least not when compared to some fics out there. :) If I left anything out I apologize.

* * *

Sherlock sighed as the sound of his brother's footsteps reached him. What the hell was Mycroft doing there? Wait. He listened. No, his brother wasn't there for his help. Mycroft wasn't worried, not that his brother would admit to that. Mycroft seemed… He rolled his eyes. The last thing he needed right now was a chipper brother.

There to gloat no doubt, though Sherlock couldn't recall having done anything gloat worthy. Must have to do with some story in the paper. He'd gone back to celebrity status following the return of Moriarty, after which everything from the trial to his faked suicide had been dredged up and even after he located Moriarty and put an end to the man's final game, once and for all, the papers kept up their incessant stories.

He thought things had begun to die down, at least neither John nor Mrs. Hudson had mentioned any new articles, but perhaps he hadn't been listening. He did have a tendency to tune them out occasionally.

Mycroft stepped through the open door, but Sherlock purposely kept his gaze affixed to the ceiling, hoping that with enough annoyance his brother would leave as quickly as possible.

"No cases then," Mycroft said, noting that the detective hadn't changed from his sleep ware as he walked across the room and then sat down in John's chair.

"How very observant of you," Sherlock replied in disdain.

He could practically hear the smile his brother wore and it grated on his every nerve.

"Not turning to something more recreational in your spare time, I hope?"

Sherlock sighed. His brother had been asking him that nearly every time they saw each other since Magnussen.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" he snapped, sitting up and eyeing his annoying older brother.

"That wasn't an answer, Sherlock," Mycroft replied, the man's smile slipping.

He sighed again.

"No, Mycroft, I'm not using. I haven't since Magnussen and you know why that was necessary."

Mycroft visibly flinched at the man's name. Not liking to relive the memory of his brother nearly being killed over a selfish act of sentiment when there had been other ways to handle the situation.

"Good," Mycroft replied, glancing around the flat. "No new roommate then?"

"Why would I have a new roommate?"

"If not for the money then company perhaps? You do go in for that sort of thing as I recall."

"I've John and Mary if I require company. When's the last time one of your friends stopped by for a visit?" Sherlock smirked. "Oh, yes, you _don't _go in for that sort of thing. Sorry, brother dear, must have slipped my mind."

Mycroft gave him a tight lipped smile.

"Yes. Well. When was the last time John stopped by? Last week wasn't it? A Wednesday if I recall."

Sherlock's smirk became a glare.

"They have an infant."

"Yes. A _little one_," Mycroft said as if it were the most horrid thing he'd ever heard of. "Doesn't leave much time for friendship, but then I did warn you at the wedding that this would happen."

Sherlock stood up, irritated. Mainly because his brother was right. Ever since the baby John had become more busy with less time for cases. Mary invited him over constantly and he'd gone, most times, but it wasn't the same and many times he'd leave, making up one excuse or another.

"Did you have a reason for your visit?" he snapped.

Mycroft watched his brother's behavior. He'd been right. Sherlock was in a state. Not a danger night, but it wouldn't be long before they started. His brother had never done well on his own. John was good for him, the doctor kept his brother balanced, but without John Sherlock would eventually spiral, worse than before because he had something to lose, something he felt he was losing.

"I've found a roommate for you," Mycroft said, no sense beating around the bush.

He'd found a knock to the head worked much better when dealing with Sherlock. His brother paused, eyeing him.

"Roommate?" he asked, slowly, not at all buying what his brother was saying. Why would Mycroft find him a roommate? And then he knew. "You want to put someone here to keep an eye on me. Well, I don't need a handler Mycroft."

"After what you did-"

"And I've more than made up for that. Or are you so quick to forget Moriarty?"

"Yes. Well. With recent events…" Mycroft replied, unfolding a paper that he'd been holding under his arm and handing it over.

Sherlock took it and glanced at the photo. He'd gotten into a row at the last crime scene with one of Lestrade's officers. He recalled the flash of a camera, but at the time he hadn't paid much notice. It seemed the photo had made its way into the paper.

"And, of course, it doesn't say anything about the way the idiot tramped all over the crime scene, something Lestrade suspended him for."

He tossed the paper on the nearest surface, which happened to be the side table.

"The point is, Sherlock-"

"The point is, Mycroft, I'm not allowing your sitter to set one foot inside my flat!"

"She's not my sitter," the elder Holmes replied.

Sherlock paused and eyed his brother, drawing his brows together.

"_She_?"

"She's the daughter of a business associate," Mycroft replied, which was completely true, though not many people knew who the man really was, where he came from, or what exactly he did for the elder Holmes.

He kept most of the detail even from his colleague, but Mr. Tyler gave him far too much leverage to chance letting the man fall into anyone else's hands. Although Mr. Tyler was getting quite a lot out of the deal in return. The man was a business man to the core.

"Wouldn't the daughter of one of your _business associates _have the means to rent her own flat? One in a much nicer neighborhood?" Sherlock dismissed.

Mycroft wasn't going to let his brother out of this. He had cards to play and he would play them if it came down to that. Sherlock couldn't be left on his own, left to his own devices. He knew where that road led. He'd been trying to locate someone for months, ever since Sherlock located Moriarty and the man had been dispatched, per his colleague's orders.

The idea to use Ms. Tyler didn't come to him until yesterday when he spoke to her. Mr. Tyler mentioned two weeks ago that his daughter was looking for work, something Mycroft had to be very careful with. He couldn't have her working just anywhere, couldn't have someone find out about her and her family, couldn't have her drawing attention from the wrong person. That would never do.

He went over her work experience. After finding out about her missions for an agency called Torchwood he thought she might be suited to work as an agent, but he could tell that she had a noble streak, something that would hinder that sort of work. After that she mentioned that beyond working in a shop, something she never wanted to do again, her only other experience lay in dealing with moody geniuses. Of course that had been a lark, but he prompted her for details. She'd been a bit evasive, but the story he got was that she had traveled with a man for two years who was indeed a genius, this backed up by Mr. Tyler and her mother, though he didn't particularly care for that woman. That the man had been a bit rash and unstable at times, not her words, but her story of his actions conveyed that. And that was what gave him the idea.

"You're spiraling, Sherlock. We both know it," Mycroft insisted.

"I am not spiraling, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped.

"The hands, Sherlock."

The detective glanced at his hands, almost unconsciously. He'd noticed it, of course, knew his brother's words were true, but he'd never admit it. The itch was there. Had returned not long after Mary gave birth. Not bad at first, but he'd had Moriarty to deal with. Now though…it had become a daily battle and one he knew he was losing.

"I'm fine, Mycroft!" he growled, his voice rising.

"Of course you are," his brother replied, completely calm and it fairly made him want to strange the man.

Sherlock eyed his brother.

"I am!"

"Yes. I heard. Now about her accommodations-"

"I'm not taking a roommate!"

"Splendid! Mother will be thrilled!"

"Mother?" Sherlock asked, sitting back down in his chair.

"You think I'm the only one who noticed? They do receive the paper."

Sherlock glared over his brother. Mycroft was serious. He sighed, slouching back irritably without replying.

"Ah, well, mother will be disappointed, but I'm sure she'll be glad she doesn't have to miss her line dancing class." Mycroft stood up, retrieving his umbrella. "I'll have Mrs. Hudson make up John's old room, shall I?"

Sherlock ignored his brother and the grin he was sure the man was sporting. After a moment he heard his brother step out, closing the door. Mycroft was right. He shouldn't have gotten attached. He sighed, glancing down at his right hand, noting the slight tremor before returning his gaze to the tiles.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	2. The Live In

You knew it was coming. :)

* * *

Rose took in the building as the sedan drew up next to it. Famous in her universe, well her original universe. Conon Doyle hadn't existed on Pete's World so her dad had no idea who Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes were, but she knew. She read all the stories after the Doctor mentioned that the author made the character of Sherlock after him, but that was back when she was younger and thought the best way to impress a bloke was to learn everything he liked. She grinned at the memory. She should've known the Doctor was making it up, trying to impress her, showing off. It seemed to be the thing with geniuses.

Mycroft was the same way, though he showed off by showing people how much power he had, which was why she'd been the one to point out that, although Mycroft might hold the power in their situation her dad had something he wanted, knowledge of advancements their scientists hadn't yet made. So, an arrangement had been struck. Mycroft would provide evidence of their existence, a nice home, not the mansion her parents once had, but nice, a monthly salary and in exchange her dad would help them in their developments.

Pete, of course, made no mention of Rose's knowledge, something that far rivaled his own because of all her time with the Doctor and her stay over in the universe created around Donna. She was grateful for that. The last thing she wanted was to be under Mycroft Holmes' thumb.

Mycroft opened the door and stepped out, offering his hand, manners first. She took it and joined him on the walk. He led her to the door. He knew she'd never been particularly fond of him, nor was she frightened by his power, having pointed out her father's importance during their first meeting. It was the main reason he hoped she could handle Sherlock.

He used the key he'd acquired to unlock the door and stepped inside after her.

"This way, my dear," he said, leading her to the stairs.

She ascended purposely, nervousness not being part of who she was. She hadn't met Sherlock, stories aside, she knew the difference between fictional character and real life person. Mycroft filled her in on the details, which she knew weren't entirely accurate, family being what they were, nosy exaggerating lot at times. Her mum being the first one to come to mind.

Mycroft opened the door at the top and she stepped inside. The flat was…well not entirely a disaster, but damn near close. Every surface was covered with something, piles of papers, strange experiments, laptops…why did he need five? A shredded throw pillow lay on the floor. She glanced at the paper shredder on end of the coffee table with bits of fluff and blue fabric stuck to the top.

"I apologize for the mess," Mycroft said.

"'S fine," she said. "Pretty much what I expected."

She couldn't help grinning. It was in fact brilliant. The Doctor had been…well, chaos was the best way to describe it. Bits and bobs everywhere. The human Doctor had been likewise. It was one of the things she missed. She glanced at a particularly volatile looking experiment with steam radiating from it and her grin widened.

Mycroft eyed his little brother who had moved from the chair to the sofa. Sherlock was lying on his back, hands steepled, eyes closed, still in his sleep ware, complete with red dressing gown. Not sleeping. Listening. And no doubt using every ounce of willpower to keep his hands steady.

"You've moved at least," Mycroft said.

Rose removed her coat and hung it up next to the long, dark one that she assumed belonged to Sherlock. At Mycroft's words she glanced in the direction he was looking and that's when she first laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes.

She couldn't see much from where she stood. His profile. Not bad. But damn he had good hair. She grinned. Moody though, he appeared to be sulking. She could handle that. She caught Mycroft's glance.

"Sorry, my dear, he appears to be in a mood," the man apologized.

She was about to reply that it wasn't anything she wasn't used to when Sherlock spoke up.

"I am not in a mood," he snapped.

"Clearly," Mycroft replied.

At that he shot up, straight up, lying down to standing in less than a second. That had to be a record. He moved quickly. One foot up on the coffee table, the other foot down on the other side, as if it weren't even there. Two more steps and he was standing directly in front of her, inches from her, glaring down at her. She stood her ground, not even flinching during his sudden arrival. She gazed up at him, eyes locked.

_Damn he looked good! _He was definitely not what she expected. She held that back though, betrayed no emotion. He was trying to intimate her and she wasn't about to let that happen.

Mother. Father. Brother. Child. Traveler. Soldier. Secrets. Loss. Friends. Separation. The deductions coming to him as words spilling out of her. Danger. Protective. Temper. Secrets. The same word again, which didn't happen often.

"She'll do," Sherlock replied and then turned on his heels and walked over to a metal and cushioned chair, plopping down and steepling his fingers.

The entire ordeal lasted less than a few seconds, but it seemed like a lot longer to her. He'd looked at her the way the Doctor looked at someone he thought might be dangerous. He was reading her, trying to learn everything about her. It was something she'd picked up, though she didn't process the same.

"My apologies, again," Mycroft said. "Manners have never been my brother's strong suit."

"'S all right. I get it," she replied, making sure to look directly at Sherlock. "Mr. nibs over there can't be bothered to stop his mind long enough to think about anyone else." She returned her gaze to Mycroft, but caught the glance from Sherlock. "Nothing I haven't been around before. Well, I'm going to go see to my room now. Upstairs you said, yeah?"

"That's right."

She crossed the kitchen and found the stairs down the hall. The door at the top was open and she saw the mess of boxes and bags before she stepped into the room. They were stacked helter-skelter around the room. She sighed. This was going to be a night.

She set to work on her bed first. The bags containing her bedding. Sheets, blanket, comforter, pillows, cases and within twenty minutes that, at least, was done. Then she turned to the boxes and realized she didn't have anything to open them with.

Well, sulky downstairs should have something, he had enough of everything else. She turned to the door and nearly jumped, but stopped herself in the last second. Sherlock was standing in her doorway, leaned up against the frame watching her.

"Were you planning on just watching or did you actually intend to help?" she asked.

He held out his hand and in it he held a box cutter.

"Thought you could do with it," he replied.

"Thanks," she said, taking his offering and gave him a smile that he didn't return.

After a minute she shrugged and turned to the first box, cutting it open. She heard him step into her room, but she doubted he was actually there to help. He seemed to be trying to figure her out, but then, she expected as much after she saw the way he looked over her downstairs.

"What are you hiding?" he inquired.

She glanced at him and couldn't help grinning.

"At the moment, whatever's inside these thirty so boxes," she replied.

"Thirty-four and that's not what I mean."

She began pulling out her clothes and transferring them to the dresser.

"What do you think I'm hiding?" she inquired, keeping her attention focused on what she was doing.

"If I knew I wouldn't be asking, now would I?"

"I don't really know you so how would I know?"

He grew quiet and she glanced at him. He was watching her again, not that she minded, but there were thirty-three boxes left. She opened the next one and then clicked the cutter closed, tossing it to him. He caught it without taking his eyes from her. He was good.

"If you're going to stay least you can do is make yourself useful, yeah?"

He tossed it back and she easily caught it. Then he turned on his heels and headed out the door.

"No help then?" she called and couldn't stop herself grinning.

Best way to get rid of a prying genius was to put them to work.

* * *

Two hours had passed and Rose had managed to put most of her things away. There were three boxes left, pictures, undergarments, and a few bits and bobs she'd collected in the short time she'd been in that universe, a majority of them gifts from her family.

A knock on her open door drew her attention.

"Whoo, whoo," a woman's voice greeted her.

She glanced over to find a woman a bit older than her mum standing in the doorway holding a cuppa. Rose gave her a smile as she stood up from the box she was sorting through.

"Thought you could do with a cup," the woman said, stepping into the room.

"That's brilliant. Thanks," Rose replied, taking the cup.

"I'm Martha Hudson. The landlady."

"I'm Rose. Rose Tyler," she greeted shaking the woman's hand.

"Sorry I wasn't here when you got in, had to do a grocery run for Sherlock."

She raised her brow at that. Didn't Martha just say she was his landlady?

"He didn't look ill," she commented.

"Oh, no, he's fine. He usually doesn't change unless he has a case," Martha replied, completely missing Rose's point.

"No, I mean. Do you often do grocery runs for Sherlock?"

"Only when his groceries run low."

She raised her brow again as she took a drink of the tea Martha brought her.

"So, he asks you to run to the shop for him?"

"Oh, no. I doubt he'd notice, but I always check when I come up to straighten things."

"Hang on. So, you not only do his shopping you clean his flat too?"

"Well…not really. I just keep things neat. He doesn't like me dusting though."

Rose nearly choked on her tea. He paid Martha rent and she in turn did his shopping and cleaned, but only what he wanted her to clean. He was a spoiled sod. No wonder he acted that way.

"Does he make you do his laundry too?" she asked, half joking.

"He doesn't make me. Sherlock's not like that."

Seriously? So she washed his clothes, did his shopping and cleaned his flat. Was there anything he could do on his own? No wonder he was such a child. Why would anyone grow up if everyone waited on them hand and foot?

* * *

An hour later Rose descended the stairs, sleep wear in hand and crossed to the bathroom.

"I'm having a bath," she called before stepping into the room. "And you better not have dirtied all the towels Martha washed."

She grinned as she closed the door, set her sleep wear down and crossed to the tub. She wanted to make sure that he knew she knew exactly how spoiled he was and that she wasn't going to be one of His Majesty's servants.

She plugged the drain and then turned on the tap, but at that moment the door flew open and she nearly slipped into the tub. Her eyes snapped to the man who stepped into the room.

"Who's Martha?"

"Oh, my god! Seriously? Who the hell do you think you are? I could've been undressing!" She yelled getting to her feet.

He stared at her, completely unfazed by her words. She had half a mind to slap him.

"Who's Martha?" he repeated.

"You've lived here how long and you don't even know your landlady's name?" she snapped, still irritated that he thought he had some sort of right to just walk in the bath on her.

"Mrs. Hudson."

She quirked her brow.

"My landlady's name is Mrs. Hudson."

Seriously?

"_Martha _Hudson."

His brows drew together and he appeared to be trying to decide if she were right or not. She crossed her arms and stared right back. In the next moment he turned around and stalked out of the room. She crossed to the door.

"No apology then?" she called. "Not that I'd expect one from a spoilt child, mind!"

She threw the door closed, only it didn't close. His hand grabbed it in the next moment.

"Spoilt child?" he snapped.

That was it. She'd had about enough of him. She grabbed the door, wrenched it out of his grip, shoved him back, threw it shut and set the lock.

"I have lock picks," he called from the other side.

"I swear to god, if you come in here one more time, Sherlock Holmes I'll…" she paused, trying to think of something she could do that would upset him enough to stop this fit he was throwing.

"You'll what?" he inquired and she could hear the way he doubted she could do anything to stop him.

She thought back to the Doctor. What would've upset him? The TARDIS. Anyone messing with the TARDIS, but Sherlock wasn't the Doctor. What did he care about?

"I'll drop your microscope out the window!" Silence, but he was still there, on the other side of the door and she could almost see him trying to work out if she would actually do that. "Go! Now!" she yelled and she heard him move then, not running, walking, slowly, but there he went. So, not as easy as she thought then.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	3. Technically Human

Going to be busy for a while so last one for a bit. :)

* * *

Sherlock returned to the living room and flopped down on the sofa once more, stretching his legs out as he stared up at the ceiling. He didn't believe she'd actually drop his microscope out the window.

There had been occasions when John had threatened the same thing. Once because he'd used his friend's plaid jumper in an experiment with a torso, an idea he got from glancing at the tag when he noticed it sticking out of John's shirt while they were in the lift during a crime scene investigation. The words _non flammable _made him wonder exactly how _non flammable_. Then there was the acid in the bath, but really where else was he supposed to keep that much acid? And he stopped John from actually reaching his hand in it to unstop the drain. The last had been after he broke up a date his friend had been on with…Tina? Mina? Laura? It didn't matter. John should've been thanking him for that one. She'd been far too controlling and actually managed to get John to drop a case they were on, well, nearly drop the case which was why he'd gone straight over after receiving the text and really climbing up the fire escape had been much quicker than going inside, waiting on the lift, and then walking down the hall. She'd taken his entrance through her bedroom window completely wrong, but once the idiot officer phoned Lestrade he'd been released and after an hour on the case John forgave him, not that he'd been worried about that.

He sighed and at that moment he felt the slight tremor in his right hand. He glanced at it and then quickly drew his hands together, steepling them and forced the involuntary movement aside.

* * *

Rose dressed after her bath and then headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on. It was late, but she wanted a cuppa, maybe find some nibbles, and then watch a bit of telly before she turned in for the night.

She filled the kettle and turned it on before turning to the refrigerator. She was glad Martha had gone shopping because judging from what she knew about bachelors…from Mickey to some of the blokes she'd…well, dated wasn't exactly the right words since she hadn't been able to keep a relationship for more than two weeks since the human Doctor. _John_ she reminded herself, that's the name he took after…she shoved the memories aside. They were healing, but they still hurt.

She opened the refrigerator door and…paused. Milk, eggs, veggies, cheese, jam, cream, butter, severed bicep, severed forearm…_what the hell? _She closed the door. Had she actually seen what she thought she saw? She opened the door again. _Yep_. She closed it.

What was it with geniuses and forgetting to mention important details? Oh, by the way Rose when I'm seriously injured I regenerate and look like an entirely different bloke, new voice and all. Oh, by the way Ms. Tyler my brother tends to keep body parts in his refrigerator.

Okay, she took a breath, body parts in the refrigerator, file that under normal…well, normal for him. She opened the door again and this time looked at them, really looked, mainly because she had to make sense of the why. There was reason they were there. Tattoo on the bicep, a tiger. Tattoo on the forearm…she looked closer. What the hell was that supposed to be?

"Caffeine molecule," Sherlock said from behind her.

He'd been lying on the sofa when he heard the refrigerator door open. He waited for the scream, the accusation, something that told him she'd seen them and either drew the serial killer conclusion or was disgusted that he would store body parts in the refrigerator. Something John had often remarked on, but that was back in the beginning.

When she'd done neither after closing the door he decided to investigate. So, he'd come into the kitchen, stopping at the doorway and watched. She re-opened the refrigerator, closed it, and then seemed to process. The next time she opened it he was surprised to watch her gaze over first the bicep and then the forearm, examining the details.

Rose turned around, eyeing him. He'd been watching her again. She knew it would, likely, creep most people out, but the Doctor often did that, watched people for their reactions. It helped him judge what sort of person they were, something she'd also picked up, which was why she knew that Sherlock was trying to understand her. Trying to figure her out.

"You've come to a conclusion. What is it?" he asked.

"Conclusion?" she inquired.

He sighed. He always hated explanations, well, unless they were followed by exclamations about his abilities, but that wasn't the case here.

"You opened the refrigerator, but you didn't react normally," She raised her brow. "You didn't scream, accuse me of being a serial killer, nor did you yell at me about storing body parts in the refrigerator."

"Do people often accuse you of being a serial killer?"

"Yes, but that's not the point." He stepped into the room. "You re-opened the refrigerator, obviously to reaffirm that you had indeed seen the body parts then you came to a conclusion, opened the door and began examining them. What was your conclusion?"

She grinned. She couldn't help it. The way his mind worked was…brilliant, though she couldn't say that. His head was already big enough for all of London.

"I figured you had a reason and I wanted to know what it was."

"And?"

"It's the tattoos."

Wait. How did she know? His brows drew together.

"What about the tattoos?" he asked.

"Judging by the ink, old on the bicep and fresh on the forearm I'd guess you were running some sort of experiment to do with tattoos before and after death," she concluded.

He gazed at her as his mind sped through everything he had thus deduced about her. Soldier. Traveler. Secrets. Those three words coming back to him. Clever. Yes, that was there as well though he hadn't noticed it before or maybe ignored it.

He wore the look again as his intense eyes gazed over her. The _what the hell are you _look. Yes, that seemed like the right way to put it. She returned his look with a grin. She knew she surprised him with her deduction and she liked that.

The kettle boiled and she brushed past him, opened the cupboard and pulled out two cups.

"Would you like a cuppa?" she asked and turned around to find that he'd disappeared. "That would be a _no _then."

* * *

Rose entered the living room a few minutes later, cuppa in one hand plate with toast in the other. Sherlock was lying on the sofa again and she assumed not sleeping. He was lying perfectly still, stretched out on his back, but his hands were steepled, resting against his lips and, as she drew closer, she could see his eyes were trained on the ceiling.

"Is it a leak?" she teased, glancing up, but he didn't even twitch.

Must be in a mood again, though she wasn't sure why. Well, she wasn't going to let his mood ruin her night. She sat her cup and plate on the side table, grabbed the remote and then lifted his legs, sat down and laid them in her lap. She doubted he would've moved if she asked and she wasn't going to sit on the floor or drag one of the chairs over.

Sherlock glanced at her. Had Mycroft given her John's file? Or, perhaps told her of his friend's behavior? Must have. Well, he certainly didn't need another John. He already had…he felt the tremor in his right hand.

Irritably, he crossed his arms to hide the weakness. He didn't like showing weakness, weakness could be used against him and it had no place in logic. In the next moment she turned the telly on. He glanced at it, watched her flip through a few stations before settling on an old movie. Black and white. He sighed, not at all happy with her forced presence.

Rose ignored his annoyed sigh. If he didn't like it he could leave. It was just as easy to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling than it was to lie in the living room. She picked up her toast and ate it as she watched the old David Copperfield movie.

"There are crumbs on my pants," Sherlock said after a few minutes.

"And there are legs in my lap, but you don't hear me complaining," she replied, finishing off her toast and setting the plate on the side table.

"That was a complaint."

She brushed his pants off, earning a glance from him.

"There. Happy?"

"No."

Oh, was he in a mood or what?

"What's the matter? No one to fawn over you?"

His eyes snapped to hers.

"I do not require fawning."

She grinned. If that wasn't the biggest lie she ever heard.

"Your pants are going to catch fire if you keep talking like that," she teased.

He glanced down at his pants. Catch fire? What was she talking about?

"There's no flame near the sofa."

She burst out laughing, unable to hold it back. He was looking at her so serious. He eyed her and she could see he didn't understand and he wasn't sure if he ought to be mad or not.

"It's…it's a figure of speech," she finally managed, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. She caught the look that seemed to say _what the hell are you on about? _"Means you're full of it."

"How is _being full of it _as you put it going to set my pants on fire exactly?"

She traveled with a nine hundred year old alien for two years and Sherlock seemed less human than him. She quirked her brow. He was logical almost to the point of…

"You are human, aren't you?" she asked, half joking…only half.

"Technically."

So, he was, but he wasn't happy about it. She couldn't help grinning. He was definitely not what she expected. She turned her attention back to the show.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	4. Terror Or Grief?

Okay, got a bit of time and since you've all been so awesome with your comments and follows thought I'd pop another chap up. Severed heads, slaps and John, not in that particular order, are included. Hope you all enjoy it! :)

* * *

Sherlock spent a good deal of the night pacing after Rose retired to bed. He'd laid there for a bit, but the tremors returned and no amount of willpower would cease them. He began pacing, trying to get his mind off things, but his mind had nothing else to focus on.

He needed case. A case or a cigarette. A case, a cigarette, or…_No! No, he couldn't slip. _What if John and Mary needed him? _Domestic bliss, _Mycroft's voice flitted through his mind.

"Shut up, Mycroft," he snapped.

_This is what people do, Sherlock. _

"They need me."

_But they don't. _

"What if something happens?"

_Nothing's going to happen, dear brother because you're not in the picture._

He paused.

"I don't understand."

_Don't you? _

Silence.

"Tell me!"

* * *

Rose was sleeping when the sound of a raised voice reached her.

"Tell me!" Sherlock shouted.

Her eyes snapped open. Was there someone else in the flat? Who was he yelling at?

* * *

_It's you, Sherlock. It's always been you._

"Me?"

_You put them in danger. _

"No."

_Why was John in the bonfire? Hmm? And the vest? Why did Moriarty choose him? Not to mention the snipers._

* * *

Rose stepped into the living room as Sherlock grabbed a lamp and hurtled it across the room. It smashed against the wall less than half a meter from her. What the hell was he doing?

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" he yelled, not even appearing to have noticed her.

"Sherlock!" she called, but he didn't even glance at her.

"You're wrong! You're wrong!" he ranted, grabbing hold of one of the laptops and…she ducked…_CRASH _it exploded against the far wall. Okay, she'd had enough of this. He needed a shock. She strode across the room and _CRACK _his head twisted to the right as he took a couple stumbling steps to the side.

White hot pain lit up the side of his face. Mycroft. His brother's amused laughter. Everything inside his mind blinked out of existence for a brief moment. His hand flew to the side of his face. His mind restarted, rebooted was a more accurate term as he affixed his gaze on the offender.

"You slapped me," he said, half stunned half angry.

"I had a choice?" she snapped. "You were ranting like a madman, nearly brained me with that laptop."

He followed her finger. The laptop in question lay broken on the floor near the wall, five buttons missing, and the screen cracked in three places. He returned his gaze to her.

He'd been on a downward spiral and he knew what the next step would've been, but she stopped it. Gave him enough of a shock to reboot his mind. Most people would have fled or called someone, but she took control of the situation.

"How did you know?" he asked.

Had Mycroft told her?

"That the only way to get through to a ranting genius lost in his own mind was to shock him back to reality?" she inquired. "Experience."

Wait. What? Experience?

"What do you mean _experience_?"

"Two years traveling with another genius. Now," she glanced from the laptop to the lamp. "I'm going back to bed and you better have that mess cleaned up by morning and don't you dare make Martha do it or you'll be getting another slap."

At that she turned and strode from the room. He watched her and as soon as she was out of sight he smiled. Well, now that was interesting. Mycroft hired her because she had experience. His brother thought she could keep him in line. She was used to dealing with unusual situations, well, she was about to find out how _unusual _living at Baker Street could be.

She might have done him a favor, shocking him out of his downward spiral, but the last thing he needed was someone watching over him. Especially someone on Mycroft's payroll.

* * *

Sherlock sat in his chair, sipping the tea Mrs. Hudson had dropped by while he was out. He heard it then. The sound he'd been waiting for. Her footsteps from above. He took a drink and then sat the cup down. Her door opened and she descended. He steepled his fingers, gazing into the kitchen and waited for the enviable as a smile graced him.

* * *

Rose stepped into the kitchen. It was nearly nine. She wasn't used to sleeping in. Back home…no back at her parents' house Tony would've woke her by now, jumping on her bed as he shouted her name. She grinned.

She loved her family, but she had to get out on her own. Get some privacy, not that she would have much living with a man who walked in on her in the bath without a second thought, but at least he wasn't trying to set her up with someone every other night.

She stepped into the kitchen and crossed the room. Coffee. That's what she needed after the night she had. Something with a kick. She walked over to fill the kettle, but a bubbling pot on the stove caught her eye.

She raised her brow. Sherlock didn't seem the sort to cook, least not if he could help it. Might not even know how, since everyone seemed to pretty much bend to his will. She glanced inside and was greeted by something glancing back at her. It was an eye. A human eye. Okay. That's not weird at all. As the pot bubbled another eye came up to greet the first. She raised her brow again. Mismatched. One blue one green.

Yep. She definitely needed coffee if this was going to be her morning. She grabbed the kettle and began to fill it.

* * *

Sherlock's brows drew together as his smile vanished. He watched her cross the kitchen, open the refrigerator and retrieve the milk, but he knew she'd see it. His latest experiment which had to do with nerve damage due to boiling water. Not very complex, but John had once expressed that out of all the experiments he'd come across the ones that involved human eyes were the ones he couldn't stand the most, something about seeing something looking back at him. Sherlock had explained the eyes couldn't actually be looking at him since they were, one from cadavers, and two no longer attached to a body. John replied, angrily, that that wasn't the point, but Sherlock, for the life of him, couldn't figure out what the point was.

There was nothing from the kitchen. No exclamation of disgust. No scream. Why hadn't she reacted? She must have seen it. He was sure she must have. A few minutes later she entered the living room. He watched her closely. There was a cup in her hand and as she drew closer he could smell the coffee. Sweet coffee.

"Morning," she said, setting down in John's chair. He watched her take a drink of her coffee before she looked at him. "Oh, um, I think the stew's done."

He felt his brow incline and forced it back into place, but noted the smile she wore that told him she'd noticed. _Damn! _

She noted the look of surprise that flitted over his features so quickly she knew if she would've blinked she'd have missed it and she couldn't help smiling because she surprised the great Sherlock Holmes again. She liked that.

"Decided to get dressed today," she continued. "That's a change."

"I had to go out," he replied.

"To the morgue."

Again his eyebrow wished to incline, but he held it in place as he watched her.

"How did you know?"

"There weren't any human eyes in the refrigerator last night."

"But how did you know I visited the morgue?"

"No dirt on your clothes."

"I could have gone out early, came back, showered, and changed."

"Fine," she replied, setting her cup down and in the next moment she grabbed one of his hands and examined it. He watched her, a bit stunned by her actions. Then she took his other hand and gazed over it before releasing it and returning to her seat. "Nope. I was right."

"Sorry?" he asked after a moment.

"Digging up two bodies. You'd be bound to have calluses. No calluses no digging."

She was going to prove much harder to upset than he first thought. Well, now, he steepled his fingers, this was going to take a bit of creativity.

Rose noted the smile he wore and the way he was staring directly at her, as if he wasn't seeing her. That definitely wasn't good. Before she could wonder what thought had brought out that look he abruptly stood up.

"Where're you going?" she inquired.

"Out," he replied, grabbing his coat and shrugging into it and then he was out the door.

She stared at the closed door a moment. That was…odd. She didn't know him very well, but still she had promised to look out for him and he'd been in a state last night. She sighed, standing up and retrieved her phone from her coat pocket.

_He left. Acting strange._

_-RT_

She sent the text to Mycroft.

_Strange?_

_-MH_

_He was smiling._

_-RT_

_Smiling?_

_-MH_

_Should I go after him?_

_-RT_

_No. I'll keep watch._

_-MH_

She wasn't entirely sure what he meant by _keep watch_, but she decided to push that aside. He didn't think she should go after Sherlock so he must have some way to keep an eye on him. She sat back down and put her phone on the side table.

* * *

John was sitting in the chair, reading the paper for the second time in a row. He sighed. Mary was taking their daughter to Harry's for the weekend. His wife got on with his sister rather well and had talked her into getting help for her drinking. She'd been sober for nearly a year, which, to John was a remarkable record. They were having some sort of a girl's weekend, but he didn't like the idea of going an entire two days without his wife.

He sighed again, but the sound of his phone going off drew his attention. He picked it up.

_Coffee?_

_-SH_

Coffee? Sherlock never asked him to coffee. Was it a case? He reread the word. No. He didn't think so, but then again with Sherlock he could never tell.

_Where?_

_-JW_

_Barts._

_-SH_

Okay. Coffee at Barts. Must be a case. Well, he had the weekend and he figured he owed Sherlock for all the times he ducked out on cases lately. John sat the paper down, pocketed his mobile and headed for his coat.

* * *

John stepped into the morgue and began crossing the room. Molly didn't appear to be present, but he spotted Sherlock easily enough, dressed in his typical black suit jacket and trousers. His friend's back was to him and he appeared to be hunched over something.

"Sherlock," he called drawing closer. "What's this about?"

At that moment his friend spun around holding two human heads by the hair, one in each hand. John stuttered to a halt.

"What do you think, John? Terror or grief?" Sherlock continued, holding up first a male head, mouth frozen in a silent scream, eyes wide and then a female head, mouth contorted into a cry, brows drawn down.

"Sherlock!" John shouted. "What the hell?"

Sherlock's brows drew together.

"If you're not going to be helpful-"

"Helpful?" John replied, loudly, still shocked by the scene before him, though he knew he shouldn't be shocked by anything Sherlock did. "You text me to ask if I want coffee and I come down here to find you holding two severed heads. What the hell are you even doing with them?"

"Trying to decide. I need a second opinion. So, which do you think?"

"Which do I think what?"

"Which is more _frightening_, John. Terror or guilt?"

Again he raised them nearly shoving them in John's face.

"I…I don't know. Terror I suppose. Why? Does this have to do with a case?"

"That's the one I went with too," Molly said, nearly making John jump as his focus had been on the severed heads and he hadn't heard her enter the room. "Here's your coffee. Just black, right?"

"Um…yeah," he replied, taking the offered coffee.

"No," Sherlock replied, giving him pause.

"No? No what?" he asked, trying to recall if he asked a question.

"No, it's not for a case." Sherlock handed the female head to Molly. "I'll take the one, you can put the other back."

"Okay," she replied, taking the female head and walking into another room.

"What is it then, some kind of experiment? And since when did you ask my opinion on your experiments?" John asked, trying to make sense of why Sherlock would have a severed head if it wasn't for a case…then again maybe he didn't want to know.

"It's to get rid of a pest," the detective replied.

"A pest?"

Okay, that could mean any number of things half of which might land them both in jail.

"My dear brother in his annoying insistence to try controlling every part of my life has saddled me with a flatmate."

"A flatmate?"

"Mm," Sherlock replied, opening a cooler and setting the head inside.

"And this is what?"

Sherlock turned around and eyed John with a grin.

"How would you like to help me get rid of said pest?"

John thought about that. He never really got on well with Mycroft. He knew Sherlock's older brother worried over the man, but the elder Holmes grated on his last nerve. Getting back at Mycroft by running off someone the man sent to watch Sherlock was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

"What's the plan?" John asked with a grin.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	5. When Pranks Backfire

The plan was perfect and to Sherlock's surprise John actually had an interesting idea that would make the severed head seem more ominous, or, at least, that's the way John put it. So, he added the length of intestine to the cooler with the head and then snapped it closed. Then he pulled out his phone.

"What're you doing?" John asked.

"Getting the pest out of the flat long enough to set everything up," Sherlock replied.

_I need eggs._

_-SH_

_We have eggs and how did you get my number?_

_-RT_

_You left your phone in your coat._

_-SH_

_So of course you got my number._

_-RT_

If she knew the answer then why'd she ask? He rolled his eyes.

_I need more eggs._

_-SH_

_Stop at the grocers then._

_-RT_

_Why would I stop at the grocers?_

_-SH_

_You need eggs._

_-RT_

This wasn't working at all. He thought she was clever, but he must have been wrong. Obviously he'd have to explain. He sighed.

_I want you to buy the eggs._

_-SH_

_Did you forget your wallet?_

_-RT_

_No. Why would you think I forgot my wallet?_

_-SH_

_I don't have time. I'm taking Martha for tea._

_-RT_

_Are we out of tea?_

_-SH_

_No._

_-RT_

"So, is he leaving?" John asked.

Sherlock glanced at his friend. _He? _Who was…his phone chimed.

_Get your own eggs. It'll be good for you to do something for yourself for once._

_-RT_

What the hell did she mean by that?

"So?" John inquired and he heard his friend moving toward him.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, quickly pocketing his phone. "The flat will be empty."

Then he walked over and picked up the cooler. She would be out with Martha. He wasn't sure who that was though he vaguely remembered Rose saying the name last night. Must be one of her friends.

"Come, John," he said, walking toward the door.

* * *

Rose was sitting at the café telling Martha about her little brother when her phone chimed. She picked it up, reading the text.

_On his way back with John._

_-MH_

"John?" she asked.

"John?" Martha inquired.

Rose glanced at her. The woman seemed to recognize the name.

"Yeah. Mycroft said Sherlock's on his way back to the flat with John."

"Oh." Martha brightened. "John Watson. Nice man. He's Sherlock's friend."

Rose raised her brow. He actually had a friend. No, that wasn't nice. He could probably be…well maybe…yep she couldn't figure it out.

"Does he come over often?"

"He used to, but since Mary had the baby he hasn't had much time. You know how little ones can be."

Rose nodded, remembering when Tony was little. Both her parents had been in a state for the first six months…or was it the entire year?

"Good friends then?" she asked.

"Honestly, dear, I think John might be his only friend. Well, his only close friend."

Oh. She paused, thinking back to when she first lost the Doctor, when they were separated. All that time traveling with him he'd become, in a way, her only friend and when she lost him it crippled her. Was that why Mycroft was so worried?

Her phone chimed again.

_I've been informed he's in possession of a cooler._

_-MH_

Another chime.

_From the morgue._

_-MH_

Brilliant. More body parts in the refrigerator.

* * *

John sat in his chair. On one level he knew what he was doing was _childish? Depraved? Completely wrong? _Especially since he'd been on the receiving end of so many nasty surprises by his friend. A head, bag of toes, human heart, and jar of eyeballs immediately came to mind. Still, he couldn't help the wave of childish excitement that passed over him as he caught Sherlock's gaze and they shared a wicked smile.

The door to the flat was open and the sound of the downstairs door closing reached them. A moment later he heard footsteps on the stairs.

Sherlock grinned.

"And here she comes," his friend replied.

Wait. What? His smile vanished as he eyed Sherlock.

"_She_? You didn't tell me-" he protested.

Sherlock's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist as his friend locked gazes with him. Sherlock raised a finger to his lips.

In the next moment a blonde woman stepped through the door carrying a takeout carton. She glanced between them, sporting a smile and then at Sherlock's hand on John's wrist. She raised a brow briefly.

"Been to the café around the corner?" she asked, removing her coat. "They have some gorgeous pie. Thought I'd bring some home."

Then she disappeared into the kitchen. Her entire entrance and speech only lasted a few seconds and John was still trying to recover from his initial shock of finding out that the person he helped prank wasn't one of Mycroft's minions, but a woman who actually seemed quite pleasant.

"Wait," he called, ignoring Sherlock's withering glare, but at that moment the sound of the refrigerator opening reached him.

The moment Rose stepped inside she noted the smile Sherlock wore, the way he held onto the bloke's wrist, the bloke who must be his friend John. John seemed startled and a bit…worried. That coupled with the fact that she knew about the cooler told her that there was most likely some shocking body part somewhere for her to find.

So, when she opened the door of the refrigerator to set the pie inside and found herself staring at a severed head and one that wore a look of complete terror she wasn't surprised…or at least as surprised as she would've been. The look on the dead man's face was a bit unnerving, but she knew that was the point. She fairly rolled her eyes. Why was it that geniuses were the biggest children she'd ever met?

Sherlock waited tensely as the seconds ticked by. Ten…twenty…thirty… She should've screamed or at least yelled by then. A severed head and a length of intestine should've warranted some sort of reaction.

"Why hasn't she screamed?" he asked.

"Maybe because she fainted you tosser," John snapped, trying to wrench himself from Sherlock's grip so he could check on her.

"Don't be so overly dramatic, John. If she fainted we would've heard her body fall."

"Sherlock, I swear-"

"Shhh," he hissed.

There were sounds, he glanced around John, but he could only see part of the table. She was moving something around, but he couldn't see what. Then he heard her footsteps down the hall and on the stairs. Not upset, not hurried, but what… At that moment it hit him.

"She wouldn't," he snapped, jumping to his feet and fairly running for the kitchen.

"Sherlock, what the hell-" John yelled chasing after him.

It was gone. She did…she had…she was about to…

"Rose!" he yelled, completely ignoring his friend as he raced down the hall and to the stairs. "Rose, don't you dare!"

"Sherlock!" John shouted, giving chase.

He raced through the open door of her room. She was standing at the open window holding his microscope over the edge.

"Drop that!"

"Gladly," she replied, her fingers loosening.

"No! Stop!" halting almost a meter from her.

She grinned.

At that moment John made his entrance. He took in his friend who was standing close, but not too close to the woman who held Sherlock's microscope out the open window. A laugh bubbled up from his throat, he tried to hold it back, but it was too much work.

Sherlock shot him a withering glare as the woman's smile broadened.

"John, if you're not going to be helpful might I suggest you leave," the detective snapped.

"I'm Rose, by the way," the woman introduced. "Mr. nibs' new flatmate." Sherlock took a step and she eyed him, feigning dropping his microscope.

"No!" he shouted, but made no further advancement. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder. "John, a little help."

"You're on your own, mate," John replied.

Sherlock dug this hole himself, but the doctor was more than happy to watch as he tried to climb his way out.

"How very loyal of you," Sherlock snapped. He turned his attention back to Rose. Would she actually drop his microscope out the window? Possibly. Okay, diffuse the situation, but how? What did he know about her? Her personality? She had a temper, that was obvious, something he'd deduced last night and probably should've considered before he left the head for her to find, but he hadn't expected this sort of reaction. John had a temper. Okay. Getting warmer. John had a temper because he could be emotional, which meant she must be emotional, which meant… He held his hands up placating. "Look. I'm…I'm sorry." She glanced at him. "I may have gone a bit far."

Rose watched him. He looked completely sincere and sounded sincere…mostly, but at least he was trying. Though after that head…

"You're sorry?" she asked.

"Yes."

She quirked her brow.

"Really sorry?"

His brows drew together.

"Yes," he repeated though now his jaw was clenched, which told her he was becoming very annoyed. Good.

"Really very sorry?"

At that John lost it again, nearly doubling over. Her attention turned to the doctor and Sherlock took that opportunity to grab his microscope and wrench it out of her hands. He wrapped his arms around it almost lovingly and shot her a withering glare to which she responded by snorting and then laughing harder than John.

He responded by turning on his heels and stalking out of the room. Of course, he shot John a glare on the way out, which made his friend laugh harder. He made a point of throwing the door closed on his way out, earning a satisfying _SLAM! _

Rose snorted one last time, coming out of her laughing fit.

"Oh, my god, did you see his face?" She glanced at John.

"No, but it could imagine," the doctor chuckled, his laughter finally dying down as well.

"I thought he was going to grind his teeth to dust."

"He hates people being redundant."

She couldn't help another snort escaping before wiping her eyes.

"Honestly, I can't believe you actually did that," he continued.

"Yeah, I might've gone a bit far, but-"

"Are you kidding! It was bloody brilliant! Do you know how many times I wanted to do that? He might be my best mate, but living with him for two years was hell some days. If it wasn't eyeballs and severed heads it was him wrecking the flat for a cigarette or interrupting me when I was on a date."

"Oh, you don't have to tell me. I fairly lived with one for two years myself though with him it was more building strange devices than body parts in the refrigerator, but I had my fair share of surprises and forget dating."

"Is that why you took the head in the refrigerator so well?" John asked.

Now that he'd met her he couldn't fathom why Sherlock was trying to run her out of there. His friend mentioned that Mycroft forced him to take her on, but really she didn't seem the working for Mycroft sort. There had to be something else going on.

"Mycroft texted me that Sherlock left the morgue with a cooler so I knew I'd find some new body part in the refrigerator. The head though…that did unnerve me a bit, but I've seen worse," she replied.

"Mycroft texted you?"

Okay, maybe she did work for Sherlock's brother.

"Yeah. He was keeping an eye on Sherlock after he left the flat. Truth be told I don't really much care for him. Bit of an arrogant self-righteous git, but after last night I was worried about what Sherlock might get up to while he was out."

"Last night?"

She glanced at him, not sure if she should say anything. She hadn't told Mycroft because she wasn't sure if it was normal or not. John would know.

"When you lived with him did he ever have a row with himself in the middle of the night?" she asked.

"Sorry?" John inquired.

"He woke me up last night, screaming and yelling. I went downstairs to find him yelling at no one then he proceeded to throw both the lamp and one of his laptops against the wall."

John laughed, nodding.

"Yeah, he has a tendency to do that when he's between cases. Hates being bored. I remember one time I came back from shopping and he was shooting the wall up."

She laughed.

Sherlock drew his brows together. John wasn't supposed to be on _her_ side. His friend ought to be on _his_ side. Brilliant! Now he'd never get rid of her. He huffed over to the sofa and flopped down dramatically. It really wasn't as much fun without anyone present to notice his dramatics. He sighed.

He intended to get rid of her. Prove to her that, although she might have experience with other _geniuses _he was in a class of his own. He was Sherlock Holmes after all, not just anyone. And he didn't need anyone, least of all some sitter his brother hired.

There had to be a way. Something that would run her out of there. If it wasn't going to be body parts then he needed to try something else. There was always a tub of acid. No. If she stripped her flesh reaching into the tub not even Lestrade would let him off and he was sure Donovan would love that. He sighed.

Poison? No murder would require a trial and a stint in prison and the boring repetitiveness of prison life would drive him mad. Another sigh. At that moment their chuckling reached him and he realized they were walking through the kitchen. Lovely! He closed his eyes, hoping that if he ignored them long enough they'd leave, maybe go out.

John glanced at Sherlock, lying dramatically on the sofa. Brilliant. He was in his sulking mood. John sighed, glancing at Rose. She caught his gaze and he could tell she knew exactly what Sherlock was doing.

"Sherlock," John called and was greeted by the silence of being ignored.

He rolled his eyes. Rose looked at him and the grin she wore told him she had something in mind. He returned her smile.

"Huh, John," she said. "I don't see Sherlock anywhere. Do you?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and glanced at her without turning his head. She was shading her eyes with one hand and dramatically gazing around the flat, swiveling her head from side to side. He rolled his eyes before closing them again.

"Nope," John replied, falling in with her little game. "He must've left when we were upstairs."

Sherlock harrumphed and rolled over into an almost fetal position facing the back of the couch. They exchanged a smile.

"How about we grab an early dinner then? Maybe he'll be home by the time we return."

She walked over and grabbed her coat, shrugging into it and he did likewise with his own.

"Sounds good," he replied, opening the door and they stepped out.

As soon as the door closed Sherlock released an exasperated sigh, rolling onto his back. And she called him a child! He stared up at the ceiling as if the answer of how to flushing her out of his flat might be found among the tiles, but they were as useless in the situation as John turned out to be. Traitor.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	6. Sedatives and Passwords

Rose and John chatted over their third cup of tea since finishing dinner. They had been at the restaurant for over an hour and a half, finding common ground in Sherlock. John had a lot to say on the subject and the guilt that he felt over his friend's poor joke made him want to prepare her for anything and everything Sherlock related.

"He actually called me a pest?" she inquired, arching her brow.

"In his defense Mycroft did make the living arrangements and, as you can tell from my first meeting with him," something John had told her about earlier, "he's made it a point to constantly get into Sherlock's business, using that _I'm constantly worried over him _excuse."

"That's the trouble with family, which is the whole reason I had to get out of my parents' house. I shudder to think what my mum would be like if she had access to all of London's cameras and could have me picked up by a black sedan with one phone call. Least Mycroft isn't constantly setting Sherlock up on dates."

John laughed.

"Fortunately, Mycroft stays out of that area," he replied, choosing not to get into anything about Sherlock dating. They were best mates after all. Lines had to be drawn somewhere.

* * *

As soon as Sherlock saw the cab pull up he hurried into the kitchen and set to work on two cups of tea. One for himself and one with a bit of something extra for her.

During his scheming his mind kept turning back to the poison idea. Of course, he couldn't actually poison her because of all that boring prison nonsense, but the poison reminded him that if he were to ever murder John then he'd do so with poison having gotten that idea from experimenting on his friend by giving John a dose of a sedative he'd been working on. He'd taken the last hour to create a new dose of said sedative, which he added to her tea.

This would provide him two benefits. One, she would be out for at least a day, giving him an entire day to hide anything she might destroy upon waking up and discovering what he'd done and two, upset her enough that she would move out, most likely telling his brother off for subjecting her to a nutter. He couldn't help grinning at the idea.

Rose stepped into the flat and removed her coat, hanging it on the hook next to the door. Then she glanced around the room. Not on the sofa. Not in his chair. She could hear movement from the kitchen…kitchen? Well, least he'd made it out of the living room.

She took a breath and prepared herself before crossing the room and stepping through the entryway. She knew that although Sherlock might be a bit of a spoiled child he was dealing with a lot, feeling as if he'd lost his best friend and his past addiction namely. She also knew she wasn't handling herself well, returning his childish behavior with her own and she needed to assert herself as the adult in this…well, relationship wasn't the way to put it, living arrangement seemed much more suited to their situation. And that meant she needed to apologize, but make sure he knew that she wasn't going to put up with his childish pranks.

When she stepped into the room he turned around, having been making tea and gave her a smile. An honest to god actual smile, which she knew should've made her smile in kind, but for some reason it set her on edge.

"Tea?" he inquired and she raised a brow. "A peace offering," he continued, handing it over.

Peace offering? Okay, definitely not what she expected. She took it. He was trying, though she couldn't work out why. Maybe John texted him after they left the restaurant.

"Thank you," she replied.

Sherlock noted the suspicion in her eyes when he offered the tea, which made things a bit more complicated. She wouldn't simply take it as John had, which meant he had to prove to her that he was trying to make amends.

"How was dinner?"

"Good."

Was he actually interested in her evening? He seemed too caught up in himself to think about other people.

"I hope you were able to finish your meal before John was called in to surgery," he said.

Okay. John did text him. Was that why he was acting…nice?

"He texted you," she deduced.

John had, in fact, texted him seventeen times since his friend left the restaurant. Most of them biting comments about the way he was treating his new flatmate, which reinforced his theory that she managed to sway his best mate in favor of her. He rested his hand back on the counter when he felt the slight tremor.

"Yes, informed me that he'd been called in and you would be on your way back," he replied, choosing not to say _home _because 221B was not her home. It was his. "I thought I'd make a spot of tea to make up for my earlier actions."

She hadn't taken a single sip of her tea, but then he noted, neither had he. He lifted his cup and gave her a slight smile before taking a drink. This seemed to motivate her. She took a drink of hers.

The tea was sweet, far too sweet. Rose tried to hide the grimace as she glanced at him and smiled.

"It's, um…" She swayed.

_What the hell? _Her cup _crashed _to the floor. She glanced at him and he was smiling…no grinning gleefully. _Bastard! _

"Oh, now that's not very nice," he replied, setting his own cup down and grabbing her as she tried to stumble back.

"You bloody wanker!" she yelled, or tried to, her voice coming out much quieter than she intended. "What the hell did you do?" The last bit slurred a little.

"It's a simple sedative. Wear off in a day or so."

"You!" She tried to slap him, but he easily deflected it. She narrowed her eyes. "I'll bloody…I'll kill you!"

He scooped her up and she tried to fight him off, but her limbs weren't listening and her head felt like it'd been stuffed with cotton. _Oh, my god! I'm going to kill the bastard! _

He merely laughed at her threat as he carried her up to her room and deposited her, unceremoniously on her bed. She tried to make her body get up so she could kick him through the wall, but the fog of sleep was claiming her and she had no choice, but to allow it.

* * *

Sherlock had been working on the tattoo experiment for the past two hours. He wanted to finish that up before he hid all of his equipment in the empty basement flat, have to wait until Mrs. Hudson went to sleep for that since his landlady had also been swayed by Rose's charm. He rolled his eyes.

At that moment a phone chimed. Not his phone. It was one of those digital ringing tones, annoying things. He glanced round the kitchen and his eyes fell on her phone at the other end.

He decided to check the message least it was Mycroft and not sending a response might elicit the elder Holmes attention. He picked it up. _Enter Password. _Wait. What? There hadn't been a password last night. She must have added it after she found out he used her phone. He rolled his eyes. All he did was call his phone with hers.

Password. What would she use for a password? Up to eight digits. He grinned. He'd been here before.

_Sherlock. _

_Incorrect password 2 attempts remaining._

Wait. Incorrect? And why did that produce a strange feeling of…_rejection? _He drew his brows together and shoved aside that unwanted feeling that had no place in his mind.

What did he know about her? Mother. Father. Brother. Child. Her child? No, she would've brought said child with her and good thing because he didn't much care for children. They were irrational and prone to emotional outbursts. So, the brother must be the child. Would she use his name? Even if she had he didn't have any idea what her brother's name was so that wasn't going to help.

He needed information about her if he was going to work out her password. He stuffed her phone in his pocket and walked up to her room. Opening the door he stepped inside and gazed around.

She was still lying on the bed where he'd left her. Good. She was still sedated, but then he'd given her enough to keep her out for at least a day and it'd only been a few hours.

He flipped on the light and made his way around her room. There were pictures on the dresser. An older woman and man. Parents, he could see the resemblance. A young boy of about three or four. Brother. Again the resemblance. Her and her parents and brother. Two more of just the brother. One with her and six other people. Two men who looked to be twins. One in a pin striped suit next to her and one in a blue suit on the other side of him and a ginger woman on the other side of that one. Then on Rose's other side was a muscular man in a long captain's coat with another man on the other side of him. They were all smiling, but Rose and the bloke in the pin striped suit were looking at each other the way Mary and John looked at each other. The twin in the blue suit was also giving her the same sort of look, but she appeared to pay him no mind. The photo was at least two years old and since she wasn't married and hadn't married none of their feelings mattered. He sat the photo down and immediately deleted the information.

Must be the brother then. He turned around and headed back downstairs, closing the door on the way out. Then he pulled out his phone and sent John a text.

_Did Rose tell you her brother's name?_

_-SH_

_Why?_

_-JW_

Why? Why was he asking why? Sherlock sighed.

_Did she tell you or not?_

_-SH_

_Yes. Just not sure I want to tell you._

_-JW_

Wait. What? Why wouldn't John tell him? It wasn't as if it were a national secret.

_You're upset with me._

_-SH_

_Bang on._

_-JW_

_I told you I was sorry._

_-SH_

_When? Must have missed that text._

_-JW_

_Fine. I'm sorry. Now will you tell me?_

_-SH_

_Why do you want to know her brother's name?_

_-JW_

_Trying to work out her password._

_-SH_

_Her password? Are you trying to use her laptop? Just use your own and stop being so lazy._

_-JW_

_I am not lazy! And it's not her laptop password._

_-SH_

_Then what's if for?_

_-JW_

_Her phone._

_-SH_

_OMG Sherlock! Do you even know what boundaries are?_

_-JW_

_Of course I know what boundaries are, John. They are lines that mark the limits of an area, but I don't know what that has to do with my unlocking her phone._

_-SH_

_No you git! I mean personal boundaries!_

_-JW_

_Personal boundaries? You can't simply make up phrases, John._

_-SH_

_Look it up!_

_-JW_

_Will you give me her brother's name if I do?_

_-SH_

_Possibly. Give it a try and we'll see. I'm stepping into surgery, will text you when I'm out._

_-JW_

* * *

An hour and twelve minutes passed, during which Rose received no less than eight texts and Sherlock couldn't even see who they were from because her phone was locked. His phone chimed. _Finally. _He picked it up and read John's text.

_So?_

_-JW_

_I looked it up, but I still don't see your point._

_-SH_

_OMG! Why don't you just ask her what her password is?_

_-JW_

_If that were an option don't you think I would've done that?_

_SH_

And John called him thick. He rolled his eyes.

_What do you mean, not an option? What the hell did you do?_

_-JW_

_Stop being overly dramatic, John. She should wake up tomorrow._

_-SH_

_Should? Should?!_

_-JW_

_You only lost a Wednesday._

_-SH_

_OMG, you bloody wanker! Why would you do that to her?_

_-JW_

_She's annoying._

_-SH_

_I'm coming over!_

_-JW_

_I thought you had surgery._

_-SH_

_Sod surgery!_

_-JW_

_You could just text me the boy's name._

_-SH_

_John?_

_-SH_

_You're upset with me again._

_-SH_

* * *

John glanced at Sherlock's latest text before stuffing his mobile in his pocket as he hurried out of the hospital. _Bloody wanker! _He wasn't sure what he was going to do first. Check on Rose or punch his best mate.

He hailed the nearest cab and climbed in, giving the cabbie the address and then sat back fuming. He thought Sherlock was past all this childish behavior, least he seemed to be. Maybe he was using again. Well, after he check on her and punched his best mate he'd place a call to Mycroft, get a few people over to check the flat.

If nothing else it'd give Sherlock something to focus on other than making Rose's life a living hell. Bloody tosser!

* * *

Why John thought he had to come over instead of simply telling Sherlock her brother's name was beyond him, but perhaps it was for the best. His friend spent two hours with her over dinner and if her brother's name wasn't the correct password then John's information would be important.

His phone chimed. He picked it up. A text from Mycroft.

_Rose is not answering her texts. What have you done to her?_

_-MH_

Why did his brother immediately assume that if Rose wasn't answering his texts Sherlock must be at fault? Granted, he was at fault, but that wasn't the point.

_Perhaps she tired of you._

_-SH_

_I was not the one trying to get hold of her._

_-MH_

Wait. What? How did Mycroft know if it wasn't him trying to get hold of her? Had his brother bugged her phone too? And why would he do that if she was working for him?

_I have no idea, brother dear. Perhaps you should employ more reliable spies._

_-SH_

_How many times do I have to tell you she is there for your well being not to spy on you, Sherlock?_

_-MH_

_Lies._

_-SH_

_Her mother has sent me twelve texts. Tell me she is not going to find a body when she arrives._

_-MH_

Arrives? Mycroft sent her mother over to his flat?

_Why would you send her mother here?_

_-SH_

_That was not an answer, Sherlock._

_-MH_

_I haven't killed her._

_-SH_

_The car should be pulling up outside and, Sherlock, I'm sorry, but I really did not have a choice._

_-MH_

Wait. What? Sorry? What did Mycroft mean by that? At that moment the doorbell rang, drawing his attention and, for some reason, apprehension.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	7. Here's Jackie

Thank you for all your brilliant reviews so far!

And here it is the Jackie Tyler meets Sherlock Holmes chapter. Hope you all enjoy it!

* * *

The cab pulled up to 221. John paid the driver and hurried out, but as he rushed to the front door he caught sight of a blonde woman as she pressed the buzzer. She turned around when he drew close and eyed him. Now, John wasn't prone to deductions like Sherlock, but he could see that anyone in this woman's vicinity was in immediate danger.

She glanced from the keys in his hand and then back to his eyes, hers narrowing dangerously.

"Who the 'ell are you then? You're him ain't you? Sherlock bloody Holmes! What the 'ell have you done with my daughter!" she yelled.

Now, John had faced enemy soliders, murderers, and serial killers, but if there's one thing he knew to be more bloodthirsty than all of them it was a mother who thought her child was in danger. His hands immediately went up in surrender.

"N-no. I'm John. John Watson. I'm his…" maybe mentioning the friend bit wasn't such a good idea at the moment.

"The doctor then. Right. Good. 'e's going to need a bloody doctor when I get done with 'im! So, go on then," she eyed his keys and then took a step back. "open the door."

John fumbled with his keys, hands shaking a bit, _damn _that hadn't happened in a long time, but at that moment the door opened and Mrs. Hudson glanced from the angry woman to John.

"John?" the woman asked and he could see the confusion over hearing the doorbell when he had his own set of keys.

"Mrs. Hudson you might want to," John began pulling her out of the way before the woman barreled over her.

"Now where the 'ell is he?" the woman glanced at Mrs. Hudson. "Sorry about that. I'm Jackie by the way, Jackie Tyler."

"Oh, um, Martha Hudson," his ex-landlady said and then seemed to brighten. "Oh! You must be Rose's mother."

"That's right," Jackie gave her a brief smile. "Now, where is 'e?"

Jackie craned her neck around as if expecting Sherlock to pop out of the molding. John half hoped the door was closed on the flat and Sherlock couldn't actually hear what was taking place, because he'd deserve it for drugging Rose, and half hoped he could and would escape what John was sure would be serious injury.

"Where's who?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes that's who! The one what kidnapped my daughter!"

"Kidnapped?" Mrs. Hudson turned a confused and worried expression on the doctor. "John? Sherlock didn't really kidnap her did he?"

John face-palmed as Jackie's eyes snapped to the woman. Of course Mrs. Hudson couldn't have said _Sherlock would never do such a thing! _Nope, because there really wasn't much Sherlock wouldn't do, of course that was usually for a case.

"No, of course not, Mrs. Hudson. You know Sherlock wouldn't do something like that," John replied, waiting for the lightening to strike him.

"Well…"

Another face-palm.

Jackie glanced from one to the other. Yep! Just as she expected. Rose had gone and got herself mixed up with another dangerous genius. Least this one didn't have a time travel machine, but she'd spent the last day reading over a blog, whose author was standing next to Martha and that'd been enough for her.

"Is one of you going to tell me which way to his flat or am I going to start busting down doors?" Jackie snapped.

Mrs. Hudson jumped.

"Oh, um, up the stairs," the woman said before turning on her heels and running for her own flat.

In the next moment Jackie's hand shot out and she grabbed John by the coat collar, fairly dragging him to the stairs.

"Come on then doctor. That bloody wanker's going to need you when I'm finished!"

* * *

Sherlock sat in his chair watching the door, but not obviously, waiting for Mrs. Hudson's entrance and introduction of Rose's mother. It was taking far longer than he expected, but then there would be introductions and a brief chat between the two women first.

He already prepared what he was going to say, had done that in the first few seconds after hearing the bell. _Rose had gone out with a friend. No he didn't catch the friend's name that sort of information being useless to him. She left her phone behind. _Believable because other people tended to do that at times, John being the _other _people. _She said she'd be back late and he would be sure to let her know that her mother dropped by though he was planning on turning in early so if it were too late he would give her the message in the morning. _

That should send her on her way and once John arrived he could send Rose's mother a text or two, pretending to be Rose, and keep her away until Rose woke and then the woman would return to being her problem. The plan was perfect.

The door to his flat fairly burst open and in the next moment he realized that his perfect plan was completely useless. He hadn't factored in John or the fact that Rose's mother would be the half crazed ape-like creature that was clutching the doctor in one hand and eyeing Sherlock in a way that brought up a phrase he'd once read, but overlooked deleting, that phrase being _seventh circle of hell_.

"Just…can we just all calm down a bit," John sputtered as Sherlock got to his feet, warily.

"You must be Rose's mother," Sherlock began, watching the woman carefully. Irate. Prone to violent outbursts. Wealth. Traveler. Secrets. Dangerous. Child. Husband. Overprotective. And in the next moment she released John as she strode across the room toward Sherlock. "I'm-"

"Sherlock bloody Holmes," she snapped.

He popped behind John's chair before she reached him, having come to the conclusion that she was there to do him physical harm, judging from the way she moved and the way her right hand twitched. Same hand Rose slapped him with last night.

"Now, look madam," he began. "I know you're in a state-"

"In a state am I?" She drew up on the other side of John's chair, glaring daggers at him. "I'll give you a state you wanker!" Round the left she went, round he went. "What the hell have you done with my daughter?"

Sherlock glanced around the room for John only to find that his friend had vanished. Probably upstairs checking on Rose. He rolled his eyes.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me? I'll give you an eye roll, I will!"

Round the right she went, round the right he went. Surely she'd tire eventually. She didn't appear to be in her best shape.

"I assure you your daughter is perfectly fine," he insisted.

"Where the hell is she then? Rose!" she yelled. "Rose!" No answer and she eyed him. "Perfectly fine my arse!"

And over the chair she came. Sherlock quickly retreated to the kitchen.

Jackie chased the bloody wanker into the kitchen. Coward that he was ducked on the other side of the table, but her eyes fell on all the science equipment. Yep, just like the Doctor, which is what she'd been afraid of. Why the hell couldn't Rose settle for a normal bloke instead of these bloody geniuses? If this one kept her daughter away for a year she was bloody well going to kill him!

Sherlock paused. The woman seemed to have stopped. Why had she stopped? He watched her gaze over his microscope, test tubes, burners.

"Where is she?" Jackie demanded, eyeing him.

"She's…out with a friend. Forgot her-" he began.

That was it. She'd given him a chance. She grabbed the closest science-y thing, some kind of glass tube and hurled it at him. He ducked and it _CRASHED _against the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sherlock yelled.

The woman was worse than Rose. She was a complete nutter! He ducked as another test tube hurtled toward his head.

"Tell me," Duck test tube. "Where," Duck test tube. "My," Duck Bunsen burner. "Daughter," Duck clamps. "Is!" Grab blow torch.

"If you must know she's upstairs sedated but perfectly fine," Sherlock snapped, having had enough of this woman and her ruining his lab equipment.

Mycroft would be replacing everything she destroyed since his brother had been so inclined to send the mad woman to his door.

"Sedated?" Jackie yelled. "Who the 'ell sedated my daughter?"

"I did, but-"

"WHAT?"

And in the next moment she chased him down the hall. Luckily, for Sherlock that is, she was waylaid by John stepping down the stairs and accidently planting himself between them. Sherlock reached his room and raced inside, shutting and locking it.

John realized his mistake too late to do anything, but stand like a deer caught in the headlights of a fast moving car. He heard the door close and the lock set. _Bloody coward! _Jackie eyed him, being the only one in her line of sight.

"I-I just checked on Rose and she's fine," he tried, hoping to calm the woman.

_CRACK!_

Half his face exploded in blinding pain as he stumbled and nearly fell on the floor. How the hell could any woman hit like that? He chanced a glance at her and found her glaring back at him.

"That's because you're his bloody friend and count yourself lucky 'cause it's half what he's getting." She eyed the closed door. "You hear that Sherlock! Half! You might be safe in your room now, but you gotta come out eventually and I ain't going nowhere!"

Then she turned on her heels and started up the stairs. John stood up, holding his sore cheek as his left eye brimmed with tears. _Damn! _What, had she practiced pub brawling? He heard the door unlock and then Sherlock cracked his door open.

"I heard your bloody door open!" She called from upstairs.

The door closed, hurriedly and the lock was reset. A moment later John's phone chimed.

_You have to get me out of here, John._

_-SH_

_I'm going home._

_-JW_

He started toward the front door. His phone chimed.

_You can't leave me alone with her._

_-SH_

_Just stay in your room._

_-JW_

_What if Lestrade calls?_

_-SH_

_Tell him you're being held captive by the mother of the woman you slipped illegal sedatives to._

_-JW_

_Don't be absurd, John. He'd arrest me._

_-SH_

_That's my point you dickhead._

_-JW_

_Legal sedatives require a prescription._

_-SH_

_OMG! I'm going home. Stop texting me!_

_-JW_

_Fine. Next time I'll buy legal sedatives. Happy?_

_-SH_

_No! And if I were you I'd be more worried about where your lock picks are._

_-JW_

John grinned as he pocketed his phone. Sherlock usually kept his lock picks in his coat pocket. The coat that was hanging by the door. Not that Jackie knew that, but it would keep his flatmate busy for a while.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer!

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	8. Promises

Lock picks? That woman wouldn't know where his lock picks were. He hadn't even pulled his tool set out of his coat in front of Rose. She had no idea they were there. Well, unless Mycroft told her, but he would have no reason…unless he thought Sherlock might use them in a ploy to slip out of her sight. If Mycroft told her surely she wouldn't have told her mother…would she?

He glanced at his phone.

_Did you tell Rose about my lock picks?_

_-SH_

He sent the text to Mycroft.

_Why would I tell her about your lock picks?_

_-MH_

_That wasn't an answer._

_-SH_

_Mmm. I suppose it wasn't._

_-MH_

Insufferable git. How was he supposed to figure out if that woman knew about his lock picks if Mycroft was going to be uncooperative? And why did his brother insist on spelling out sounds? John thought he was a drama queen.

Mycroft wasn't going to be any help and John ran off. Coward. He needed to find a way out of there. Lestrade? No, he'd be arrested for sedating Rose and he knew no matter how well he made the argument no one would believe he sedated her in self defense.

Molly? No, she was far too meek. One look at that woman and Molly would be half way to China. Okay. Who else was left? Mary was out of town, he'd gotten that in the first five seconds he laid eyes on John. Anderson? Not that he considered Anderson a friend, but he might prove a distraction. She'd likely kill him. Sherlock grinned, but the grin faded a moment later. No, Anderson was half a nutter himself these days with his wild conspiracies. The man was a wild card and Sherlock needed a sure thing.

The sound of footsteps down the hall toward his room froze him in place. He leaned his ear against the door and he could hear the scrape of wood on the flooring. A chair. Kitchen chair. The sound stopped less than a meter from his closed door. The sound of someone sitting down, legs crossed, arms crossed. He narrowed his eyes.

"Like I said," the woman snapped as if she knew he was listening. "I ain't going nowhere. I can wait you out."

"I highly doubt that," he replied.

"You've gotta eat."

"Judging from your weight I'd say food will distract you far before it distracts me."

"Can't be much of a genius if your dumb enough to go poking for a second slap when you ain't even got the first," she snapped.

"I can assure you that I will be receiving neither."

"Got yourself a crystal ball, do you?"

Crystal ball? What the hell did a crystal ball have to do with anything?

"What does owning a ball made of crystal have to do with this conversation?"

"You geniuses are all alike, ain't ya?" He was about to shoot off another reply when he heard her sigh and shift her weight. "What are your intentions with my daughter?"

His what now? Intentions? What the hell was she going on about?

"My intentions, madam, are to move her out of my flat willingly or otherwise," he replied.

"That ain't going to happen," she said.

Not a threat. A statement of fact.

"Sorry?"

"She promised your wanker of a brother that she'd watch out for you and if there's one thing I know about my Rose it's that she never backs out of a promise. There ain't anything in this universe or any other that'll make her leave, not until she thinks you're all right."

Promised? What did she mean by that?

"I believe, madam, that you're confused as to her position. She works for Mycroft."

"It's Jackie, you can stop with that _madam_ nonsense and it sounds like you're the one what's confused."

"Who," he replied, almost automatically.

"What?" she asked.

"You said _what's confused_, but you should have said _who is confused_. Since I am in fact a person and not an object."

"Oh, shut up with your airs."

Shut up? Did she actually just tell him to…?

"Its simple grammar, madam, even someone of your low intelligence should be able to grasp the concept."

"Can't stop poking for another slap, can you?" she snapped.

His desire to rid himself of Rose had doubled since this woman's appearance.

"The point is," she continued. "Rose isn't working for your brother."

"He's paying her to spy on me."

"For a genius you really are a bloody idiot, ain't you?"

"_Aren't _you."

"You interrupt me again, Mr. High And Mighty and I'll be coming through that door locked or not. You got me?" He paused, choosing not to respond to her threat. Would she actually break down his door? Could she? He drew up an image of the woman…it was a possibility. "Rose _don't_ spy on no one unless she thinks they're a threat and it would have to be a life or death threat. She _ain't _that sort of person."

Now she was just doing it on purpose to annoy him. He forced himself to ignore it as he went over her words. So, Mycroft was paying Rose, but she was there because she really did want to help him. That might change her motivation, but he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, no matter what anyone thought, and he didn't need another person meddling in his life. If she wouldn't leave until she thought he was fine then that's what he would tell her.

"All right. I'll tell her I'm fine."

Mrs. Tyler laughed.

"She's heard that one before and he was a much better actor than you." He heard her stand up. "Might as well come out of there, can't have you in your room all night. I'll make us a cuppa."

He heard her pick up the chair and move into the kitchen. She must have cooled down. He unlocked the door and stepped out, straightening his suit as he walked down the hall. _CRACK! _

He stumbled into the wall. His face exploding in pain as everything in his mind blinked out of existence to be replaced by shock, indignation, anger, and burning resentment. He stood up, eyeing the woman.

"You slapped me!" he yelled.

"Don't act like you didn't know it was coming," she snapped, turning around and making for the counter to grab the kettle.

"But…but you told me to come out."

He followed her, massaging the side of his face as his mind rebooted.

"Yep, but I didn't say you weren't getting a slap."

She turned on the tap and filled the kettle. He watched her through narrowed eyes for a moment before stalking into the living room and throwing himself down in his chair. The sooner he extracted both of them from his life the better.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


End file.
